


A Bite From Cloven Fruit

by ApolloAttraction



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Background Relationships, Foreplay, M/M, No Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloAttraction/pseuds/ApolloAttraction
Summary: A TRC Royalty AU / Adam and Ronan are arranged to be married, but their courtship leaves something to be desired.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 18
Kudos: 177





	A Bite From Cloven Fruit

Gansey paces the meeting room with his hands clasped behind his back. “We can speak to them, I’m sure,” he says and looks to Adam with his jaw set. “I’m not going to make you do it.”

“Don’t be a fool, Gansey,” Adam answers back, though his eyes still haven’t left the letter he’s holding. “Refusing a proposal like this would be an act of war.”

“Surely not. We’ve always been on good terms with the Lynches. They are allies and _friends_.” Gansey presses the pad of his thumb to his lips and quietly muses, “There must be another way.”

“They _were_ allies,” Another advisor interrupts. “The recent assassination of the king has left many things in question.”

Adam finally puts the letter down and looks to Gansey. “The fact of the matter is the new king needs to secure power quickly. With the rumors about his own parentage circulating in all seven kingdoms, the easiest way to do that is to get the second and third princes far enough away that their supporters have nothing to support.” Adam taps the paper. “This is unorthodox, but it’s a good move.”

Gansey stops, placing both hands on the back of his empty chair and frowning deeply at the paper. “But why my advisor? Why not…” he glances around the room. “Helen?”

Helen’s head snaps up and she gives them a coy look. “Yes. Let me marry a prince. I think I’d do lovely in a foreign court before I seize power and become sovereign.”

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose. “All jests asides,” he says, though he isn’t certain that Helen _is_ joking, “I’m not royal. Even if we were to refuse them this, they could simply compel me to accept the betrothal.”

A dark look crosses Gansey’s face, “Now _that_ would be an act of war.”

The older advisors, those left behind from King Gansey II’s court, shake their heads at their sovereign. It’s a quiet disdain that neither Gansey nor his new advisors have been able to squash. Adam gives Gansey a warning look and carefully makes his offer, “If it would please you,” he starts, though the subjugation burns like bile in the back of his throat. “I will accept the offer- for myself and upon your behalf.”

His phrasing is for the older advisors’ sensibilities only. Both he and Gansey know that he’s made up his mind on what he will do. Gansey takes a breath and nods, “Very well.”

\--

“You knew him.” Adam says, turning an orange over in his hands. He sinks his nail into the skin and tears the peel away piece by piece. “What should I expect?”

“We were just boys at the time,” Gansey says. “He was energetic. Mischievous. Impulsive. The alliance our fathers had was always tenuous at best, but Ronan and I-“ he laughs a little at himself. “I know you don’t like to mix poetry and politics, but it felt like being torn in two when he was called back to his own court.”

Adam hums. “Were you two together?”

“There were rumors,” Gansey shrugs.

“But were they true?” Adam asks.

Gansey looks out the window, his eyes looking at the tall evergreens as though he were looking through them. Somewhere, some long distance past the forests and their cobbled network of roads, there is a port over looking a vast, dark sea. “It’s unnerving to have to speculate on your own life,” Gansey says quietly. “I hope things are more defined for you.”

\--

The prince’s boat arrives at the cusp of spring. Adam, Gansey, Helen, and a brigade of soldiers stand on the dock, ready to greet him with the required pomp and circumstance. Smiles are required, though it doesn’t seem like the scowling prince has gotten that memo. He steps onto the dock and regards his welcoming party standoffishly. He is not the curly-haired, jovial teen depicted in the royal family’s summer portraits. He is a man, tall and imposing in a striking black brocade with intricate silverwork along it. His hair has been shorn and his mouth is set like he’s just finished saying a swear. He is savagely handsome, Adam realizes with some dismay.

“Ronan,” Gansey says, his tone teetering haphazardly toward fondness as he extends his hand.

Ronan disregards the hand and instead slings an arm around Gansey’s shoulders. “Shit,” he says. “We’re the same height now.”

“Twelve years is time enough to grow.” Gansey smiles. “May I introduce your fiancé?”

Ronan glances to their left and settles his gaze on Adam with an unreadable look. “I heard Declan promised me to a nerd.”

Adam half-bows toward him, if only to hide his rolling eyes. “Adam Parrish.” He looks up and gives Ronan a wry smile. “And my proper title is _advisor_.”

\--

Adam is not prepared for Ronan and Gansey’s friendship to return in newer, stranger forms. He is not prepared for Ronan to be invited as counsel and doubly so unprepared for him to actually speak during their meetings, voicing all manner of opinions with the propriety of a frocked pig. He clings to his decorum through every meeting, but finally he snaps under the weight of yet another egregious piece of advice from Ronan.

“Why is he even here?” Adam slams one fist down on the desktop. “Every word out of his mouth would strike a feud if you were to follow it. I can’t tell if he’s truly warmongering or if he’s just recklessly arrogant enough to think that would actually work.”

Some of the older advisors exchange glances like they want to exchange nods, but none of them speak.

Instead, Ronan rises to his feet, planting his palms on the table and towering over the seated conference. “Maybe he wants some advice that isn’t steeped in two-faced subterfuge-“

“Enough,” Gansey stands from his chair. The king and his two closest advisors regard each other with tight expressions.

Ronan’s hands bawl into fists on the table top.

“Well,” Helen says, adding to the tension as opposed to breaking it. “I can’t wait to see what you two are like as newly weds.”

Ronan storms away from the table so quickly that he topples his chair. The chamber door slams behind him with a force that rattles the walls and tilts the framed paintings.

Gansey pinches the bridge of his nose and rolls his shoulders forward. “I think we should reconvene the counsel at a later time.”

Helen is the first out the door with the older advisors meandering slowly behind her.

Adam stays. “A word?” he asks and nods his head to the door.

Gansey nods. They follow the advisors out the doors and down the corridors until they find a hall that is large and empty. “There has to be a balance,” Gansey says quietly before Adam can speak. “I want both your ideas, but you cannot butt heads like that in front of the other advisors.”

“His ideas are reckless and simplistic,” Adam seethes.

“And yours are complicated and duplicitous,” Gansey says and repeats: “There has to be a balance.”

Adam grits his teeth and pulls the paperwork he’s holding close to his chest. “My plans will work better in the long-term. I don’t want you to be floundering when I leave the kingdom.”

“Oh.” Gansey leans back against the wall. “Right. Your coronation.”

“Wedding,” Adam corrects. “I will not be royalty in his land.”

Gansey gives him a sympathetic look. “How is your courtship going?”

Adam shrugs one shoulder. “I think there needs to be courting to call it a courtship.”

“Even more reason to keep your tempers in check, at least publicly.” Gansey adds softly.

Adam scoffs. “Sometimes I forget that you can be wise on your own.”

Gansey offers him a small, unrestrained smile. “I think sometimes that I do, too.”

\--

There is a balcony that overlooks the fountains in the courtyard. It’s on the second story, but difficult to get to unless you already know the way to it. There are rumors that it was designed this way so that King Gansey II could negotiate with people that required more finesse than the courtroom or conference room could offer. These rumors begot more rumors that there were secret contracts hidden among the many empty vases that surrounded the sun-beaten chaise. Adam’s research and subsequent mapping of the path to the balcony revealed that none of these rumors held even the smallest kernel of truth, but it did provide him with a quiet place to read.

At least, most days were quiet.

Today, some young aristocrats have decided that they’re going to spar just below the balcony. There are grunts and insults flung every few seconds. At first, Adam is keen to ignore them- it isn’t the first time the men of court have decided to play at being soldiers- but then he hears the unmistakable sound of metal clashing. He hurries to the railing, eager to stop an actual injury from occurring, only to be arrested by what he sees.

Instead of two nameless aristocrats, he sees his fiancé and his king squaring off below. Gansey is well-protected in a padded lame, but Ronan has shirked his tunic, fighting with his bare back turned to Adam.

Adam has seen the edges of ink peek above Ronan’s tunics before, but he had never imagined how extensive the ink would be. Intricate black lines wind themselves over Ronan’s shoulder blades and down the notches of his spine, forming pictures that Adam can’t quite put together. Is this line a raven? Or that one perhaps a spire? It’s hard enough to piece together before Ronan starts to move, but then even the movement becomes a thing of beauty.

Ronan fights deftly. The thrust and slash of his foil is not weighted by the same princely decorum Gansey has been taught to fight with. He drives himself forward with the single-minded pursuit of a hit, forcing Gansey to fall back on his footwork as he evades. Ronan’s muscles move beneath the ink, coiling and springing as he strikes. In this way, his aggression is graceful, but he’s still too quick in his moves.

Gansey sidesteps him and brings his own foil to a point at Ronan’s throat. They’ve moved around far enough that Adam can see the surprise in Ronan’s eyes and the wild, triumphant grin on Gansey’s face. Both looks are new to him and he spends some time staring at them with his heart ratcheting under his breastbone.

Gansey slides the foil up along Ronan’s throat until his head tilts back and he’s looking up, turning his eyes to Adam instead.

Adam draws back from the railing with his heart still pounding and heat rushing to his cheeks.

\--

Gansey’s announcement that he’s sending his top two advisors on a courtship retreat is surprising to everyone, not least of all his advisors.

“I didn’t expect to be exiled for our outbursts at the conference,” Adam muses irritably as he packs his luggage.

“Exile?” Gansey looks affronted. “I’m sending you to our summer estate. For a month. I’d hardly call that exile.”

“Meanwhile, you’ll be renegotiating treatises with his very kingdom.” Adam slams the heavy luggage top closed and latches it. “Your other advisors will see this as a call to opportunity.”

“And they can vie for your spot if they must, but regardless of _where_ you are, you are still my first advisor.” Gansey moves closer to Adam and drums his fingers across the top of the suitcase. “Anyway, it is said that Declan Lynch, the first king of his name, cannot be in the same room as his brother without their meeting turning into a fight.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Adam cuts his eyes toward Gansey. “But if you’re starting to listen to rumors, you should know there’s one that says that same about your royal advisor and his fiancé.”

“Don’t be difficult, Adam,” Gansey sighs. “Their fights will come to blows. True ones.”

“It would be an entertaining match,” Adam mumbles.

Gansey gives him a knowing look and pats his arm. “There is something different between you and him, and I hope you find it while you’re away.”

Adam’s gives him a sour look, but it’s difficult to maintain. “Fine,” he relents. “But I will remember this when Helen dethrones you.”

Gansey laughs softly and leaves his chambers, no doubt on his way to give a similar pep talk to Ronan.

\--

The Ganseys’ summer estate is almost as palatial as the actual palace. The house stands at the center of a stunning expanse of tailored greenery framed by forest on all sides. Its stone walls reach to a third story with a sloped roof high enough that the attic could almost be called a story of its own. The kitchen house is built into the first floor and meals come hot to the second one. Even its oak tables, though much smaller than the ones in the feast hall at the palace, are decadently sculpted with scenes of the hunt around its legs and borders. The enormity and luxury of it all quickly makes Adam lonesome, and that is before he realizes that he hasn’t seen his fiancé since they’ve arrived.

“I believe we’re supposed to be spending time together,” Adam says when he finally corners his betrothed at the stable house.

Ronan gives him a weary look before turning back to the horse he’s grooming.

The mare is a tall beast with a charcoal grey coat, and her ears flick sharply at Adam as he passes. He presses a palm to her neck and strokes her down to her withers. “Do you ride?” he asks Ronan once the mare’s ears settle back to a pleased position.

Ronan glances at Adam from the corner of his eyes. “Only when I’m here.”

“So, it’s been twelve years, then,” Adam says ruefully.

“Longer,” Ronan grunts.

Adam moves past the mare, trailing his hand along her flank to keep her from startling. There are other horses further in the stable, but all of them ignore him except a sorrel draft horse at the end. That horse shakes out its mane and knocks its hoof petulantly against the stall when he approaches. “I just learned to ride last summer,” Adam says and reaches out for his horse. “But I’m pretty good at it.”

Ronan presses his forehead to his mare’s snout and mutters something that Adam can’t hear. He pulls back and says, “So, are we going to dust off their tack or just stand around ruminating on it?”

“The stable hands keep them in good shape.” Adam pulls open the stall door and guides his horse out into the open stable. “They shouldn’t have any difficulty with the trails.”

\--

Ronan rides straight-backed with his chin lifted as they start down the trails. It’s a tense posture that actually makes him look regal despite the relaxed tunic and trousers he wears. Adam’s spine isn’t quite so rigid, but he emulates the posture well enough as they wind through the woods. Spring has given the trails a vivid, green scenery full of trees and vines, but it’s also given them a host of insects to draw their attention as well. For a long while, the only noises are the chirping birds and a conversation that consists entirely of warning each other of spider webs.

Adam pulls his horse alongside Ronan’s and tries to expand the conversation. “Have you named her?”

Ronan keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Her name is Siorc.”

“Mine is named Soleil,” Adam smiles.

Ronan glances dubiously at the horse’s sorrel coat. “You named her _soleil?_ ”

Adam shrugs. “She was Helen’s horse long before she was mine.”

Ronan grunts in reply, and it’s the only reply he gets. The conversation lulls back into silence, and Siorc trots ever so slightly faster.

Adam urges Soleil up to their side and tries again. “Did you come here often when you stayed in our court?”

Ronan’s posture breaks. He leans forward and presses his heels to Siorc’s flank, spurring her to pick up the pace.

Adam does the same to Soleil and brings her abreast again. “You could at least make an effort to talk to me. This is childish.”

Ronan snaps Siorc’s reins and leans down like a jockey as she takes off.

“You ass!” Adam snaps and spurs Soleil into a racing trot to follow.

They shoot down the trails, rocketing in directions that Adam isn’t familiar enough to find on his own. Their horses move swiftly, racing each other as they pull abreast and fall away over and over. Spider webs cling to Adam’s hair and tunic as they leave the well-tamed trails for overgrown dirt ones that can hardly be seen beneath the foliage. Finally, the trees break at the bank of a lake, and Ronan pulls back on Siorc’s reins. “That was a good race,” he quips as he dismounts. “But I guess it always is for the winner.”

Adam grits his teeth and dismounts as well. “Next time, let me know we’re racing.”

Ronan takes a rope and tethers Siorc’s saddle to a tree. “You’re smart,” he says. “I thought you’d figure it out.” He takes the bit and reins from Siorc and pets her fondly.

“I hope you know how to find your way back.” Adam says as he similarly secures his own horse.

“Of course I do,” Ronan says. “I used to come here all the time with Gansey.”

Adam turns to regard the lake and instead finds himself regarding Ronan’s bare back. “You can’t possibly be planning to swim.”

Ronan looks over his shoulder at Adam and rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to lecture me about catching a cold, you should know I’ve gone swimming in lakes with ice on top of them.”

“I don’t go looking for unpleasant experiences.” Adam unhooks a skein from his belt and sits down on a log bracketing the shoreline. “So, don’t expect me to join you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ronan answers gruffly and slips into the water. For a long time, he stands only waist deep. He breathes in and out slowly, acclimating to the chill faster that Adam would have expected.

As he waits, Adam finds himself trying to piece together the intricate knot work of his tattoo again. He’s getting close to figuring it out when Ronan walks forward and the water inches up his back, blurring the lines of it until nothing can be seen except the hooks and lines that claw their way onto his shoulders. Adam calls out for his attention, but he pretends he can’t hear him.

Adam weighs his aversion to being cold versus his annoyance at being ignored and finds the one he cannot let stand. He strips himself to his underclothes and wades out into the frigid lake. He comes to stand in front of Ronan with a grimace. “I am deaf in one ear, and even _I_ can hear at that distance,” he growls.

The smirk Ronan turns on him is infuriating. “I must’ve got some water in my ears.”

Adam folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at his fiancé. It’s hard to look suitably threatening, though, when your lips are turning blue and gooseflesh is rising on your arms.

Ronan gives him a sympathetic look. “If you float for bit, the sun will warm you.” Adam continues to silently glare at him, so Ronan demonstrates by lifting his feet and bobbing belly-up on the lake’s surface.

Adam relents and does the same, if only for his own comfort. “It was still warmer on the shore,” he grumbles, even as the sunlight chases away the worst of the cold.

Ronan hums softly in reply, and when Adam glances at him, he sees that the prince has closed his eyes. It isn’t long before Adam follows suit, letting the tension roll out of him as he listens to the chirping insects around them.

“Gansey and I used to come here and waste the whole day,” Ronan says softly. “We’d still be floating on the lake past sunset, and one of our fathers would have to come get us. Well, I guess it was actually _my_ father or King Gansey II’s men-in-waiting.” He makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle, but there’s a sadness to it that keeps it from being merry. “It was better when it was my dad. He’d ride with us back to the castle grounds like he had snuck out with us, and the entire way back would be filled with stories about ghosts and demons that hid in the forest, waiting to lead young men astray once the sun fell.”

“Those are strange stories to tell when leading young men through a forest after sunset,” Adam remarks wryly.

Ronan chuckles mirthfully, “He had a sense of humor, obviously.”

“You sound like you miss him,” Adam says. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t say what you don’t mean,” Ronan says bitterly. “The only thing anyone cares about when a king dies is who the next person in power is going to be.”

“Then I’m sorry for how you’re feeling,” Adam says simply. He hears the water shift and opens his eyes to make sure he isn’t being left behind. A few feet away from him, Ronan is standing up and staring at him. “What is it?” Adam asks.

Ronan’s brow furrows. “Why aren’t you that direct in the conference room?”

Adam stands back up as well, “Because it does no good. You cannot be an honest man in a room full of liars.”

“So you become a liar, then?” Ronan snarls at him.

“I do what I have to in order to survive,” Adam answers swiftly. “The game of politics is played in the dark with folded cards and high stakes bluffs. My loyalties lie with Gansey alone, and anything I do is with the intent to keep us alive and well.”

Ronan gives him a conflicted look. Eventually, he wades past Adam and back out onto the shore.

“Where are you going?” Adam yells in frustration.

“Back to the estate,” Ronan calls back as he redresses.

Adam heaves an annoyed sigh and follows him back to the shore. They dress themselves and their horses in silence before they start back toward the estate. They had ridden some ways out and the ride back is excruciating not only for its length but its silence.

Once they return to the stables, Ronan is quick to dress down his horse and rehang his tack. He lingers after Siorc is shut in and helps Adam finish dressing down Soleil. The silence persists in these moments until Ronan heaves a sigh. “Campfire stories aren’t the only stories my dad used to tell,” he says. “He loved a good fairytale, and the tales of our kingdom are rich with tricksters and magic.”

Adam shuts Soleil into her stall. “Lovely,” he says dismissively, and he’s tempted to leave Ronan mid-conversation, just like Ronan had left him at the lake. Instead, they walk together side by side on the path that leads from the stable.

“I was fond of the magic, but the tricksters never sat well with me.” Ronan continues softly, as if he’s telling a secret. “There is one in particular that I’ve been thinking about: A fae woman who wears her heart on a string. She wanders out of the forest and into a nearby village. To the men of the village, she’s beautiful beyond comprehension and they can refuse her nothing as they vie for her hand. She makes increasingly ridiculous demands, all the way up to sleeping in the king’s bed the night before she intends to return to her lands. She sleeps alone. But the king cannot resist watching her from the corner of his own room, and that’s when he sees her heart hung on the string around her neck.”

They stop in front of the house, standing in the shadow of its tall, stone walls. Ronan glances at Adam meaningfully before he looks away again. “The king steals her heart and hides it. Without her heart, she isn’t able to return to her lands and must marry the king.” He rubs the palm of his hand against the back of his neck. “My dad used to tell us that our mom had found him the same way, but I always felt sorry for the fae woman.”

Adam shakes his head slowly. “And you were upset that _I_ wasn’t being direct.” He pushes past Ronan and into the house without another word.

\--

Adam spends the whole night cloistered in his room, digging through his luggage. He pulls books from the suitcases one by one, reading and discarding them until he finds one he had already finished nearly four summers prior. It is well past the witching hour by that point, so he tucks the book beneath his pillow and forces himself to sleep, but the next morning he storms from his chambers to the dining room with it.

“Here,” Adam says and thumps the book down in front of Ronan.

Ronan picks up the book and squints at the title. “What is it?”

“A gift,” Adam says firmly. “It’s full of fairy tales from all seven kingdoms, including yours.”

Ronan opens the book and turns through the pages, fingers brushing reverently over the texts as he scans them. “This is-“ he stops suddenly, brow furrowing, and Adam knows that he’s found _it_.

“That’s the story you told me last night,” Adam moves to sit in the chair beside Ronan and a servant slides a tray of breakfast in front of him. “I think it does better as fiction,” he says, picking up a strawberry and dipping it in crème.

Ronan looks up with raised eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Adam eats the strawberry in one bite. “I mean,” he starts very seriously. “I am not a helpless maid, and you would do well not to treat me as such.”

Ronan smiles at him, and it is a soft and kind smile that makes Adam duck his head and pick over his food.

\--

Ronan and Adam take to walking the foot trails in the evenings. There aren’t enough servants to tend to them and the kitchen before dinner, and the few soldiers that guard them are easily bribed to leave them alone during that time.

“It is unsettling how little booze is required for them to shirk their duties,” Adam comments as they start into the forest.

“They’re babysitting, that’s all.” Ronan shrugs. “You can be sure that there’s a perimeter of actual guards patrolling the roads in and out of here.”

Adam hums. “So they’re here to…?”

“To make you feel safe?” Ronan offers.

Adam rolls his eyes. “I feel _so_ protected.” Sarcasm drips off every word.

Ronan smirks at him. “I thought you didn’t want to be treated as a maid?”

Adam snorts. “Ass.”

Their footfalls crunch softly over fallen branches and scattered leaves until they come up the lake from their first days there. As it does in spring, the weather has warmed considerably for a time and the water is warm enough that Adam can wade out to his waist before he starts to regret his decision to get in the water at all. He distracts himself by watching Ronan, instead. “I have a personal question I’d like to ask you,” he says as the prince walks ahead of him, letting the water lap at his neck until he’s just a floating head.

Ronan smirks. “If I guess the question, do I get a prize?”

“What is your tattoo?” Adam asks.

“That’s not where I thought this was going,” Ronan frowns.

Adam tilts his head to the side. “Where did you think this is going?”

“The tattoo,” Ronan says and swims closer to Adam so that they’re both standing waist deep in the water. “It’s a road map. All the twists and turns it takes to get home.”

Adam is certain that he would have easily been able to tell if the ink work was a road map. “Let me see it,” he says, brow drawn in confusion.

Ronan obliges and turns around.

Adam presses his fingers to the nape of Ronan’s neck and draws his fingers down the ink-black line there. His touch slides over his damp skin, tracing the path of the tattoo until it’s cut off by another line. Adam brings his other hand up to follow this new line and finds himself tracing a picture of wings into Ronan’s back. “This is _not_ a road map,” he says firmly, ignoring the pleased shiver that runs down Ronan’s spine when passes his hands over the wingtips at Ronan’s hips.

“Home isn’t always a place.” Ronan says a little breathlessly and turns back to face Adam. “Can I ask _you_ a personal question?”

Adam nods slowly.

“Where did you get your scars?” Ronan asks.

Adam sinks down into the water, sitting on the rock bed and letting the lake cover up the marks on his own back. In truth, he often forgot that he had them anymore. He should have known Ronan had been watching him the same way that he watched Ronan. He should have prepared for this.

Ronan sits down on the rock bed next to him. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Adam draws his knees to his chest and contemplates ignoring the question. “No, it’s fine,” he finally decides. “They’re from the lashings I took as a serf.”

Ronan stays silent, but when Adam looks to him, he sees his jaw is firmly set.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Adam says. “It was quite the scandal when Gansey brought me to court and gave me my title.” He presses his head to his knees, knowing how many in the aristocracy viewed him and hoping that Ronan doesn’t see him the same way. “It shouldn’t matter anymore, since we’ve abolished serfdom as it was.” Underneath the water, Adam feels Ronan’s hand press against his back. He looks up questioningly, but Ronan doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Is that where your deafness came from?” He asks low and dangerous.

Adam shakes his head, “Now, that, I would rather not answer.”

The look on Ronan’s face tightens, and Adam is surprised to see such fury there. “If anyone ever touches you again, there will be hell to pay.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Adam says earnestly.

“I know,” Ronan says and withdraws his hand. “But every good fighter should know when to use a sword.”

Adam smiles softly to himself. “What a strange kingdom you must come from for even a prince to speak as though he were a soldier.”

Ronan grins at him. “No stranger than a kingdom that makes serfs of true scholars.”

\--

Adam and Ronan’s return to court is a quiet affair, for the most part, with all fanfare having been exhausted the previous night for the departure of King Declan and his entourage.

“I’d like to see the treatises you negotiated as soon as possible.” Adam says, sliding into his seat at the breakfast table.

“They’re in order,” Gansey says. “Things went well. Declan works judiciously and I think most changes favored us in long term.”

“Yes,” Helen sighs. “The meetings were long and bland. I think you would have like them, Parrish.”

“I’d still like to see the treatises,” Adam says and scrapes a pad of butter onto toast.

Gansey gives him a strange look. “And how was your courtship retreat?”

Adam shrugs one shoulder and busies himself with chewing his toast.

“I know what that means.” Helen smiles coyly. “The Lynches are such charmers, aren’t they?”

“Helen!” Gansey tries to scold her.

Unfortunately, it is impossible to scold a woman as self-assured as Helen Gansey. She merely gives him a flippant shrug and steals the last strawberry off his plate. “I’m just saying,” she shrugs on her way to the door. “Find me a husband as charming as a Lynch and I just might marry, too.” She slips through the door with a waggle of her fingers and a chaotic grin on her face.

“She’s certainly grown a personality since your father’s passing,” Adam says, only a little sourly.

Gansey sighs heavily. “Sometimes, I do wish that she’d been born in such a way that she could take the throne and I could live in her shoes.”

“Her shoes look like they hurt,” Adam says in jest, but he understands wholeheartedly what Gansey means.

\--

Ronan withdraws from his position as counsel to the king. At least, he does so publicly. Adam has a sneaking suspicion that Gansey’s afternoon sparring matches with Ronan are also a covert debriefing on the news of the day. It’s a good compromise between keeping him in the conferences and removing him completely. Adam might have even suggested it himself, if he weren’t so flustered by his impending marriage.

It does, however, mean that Adam and Ronan seldom see each other at the palace.

Adam spends his mornings in conferences, writing acquisition letters, and researching academia for future conferences and acquisition letters. Ronan spends his afternoons sparring and privately advising Gansey. The evenings are filled with dining and discussions with court that Adam does not have the will to leave- even if they irk him- and in which Ronan has no interest in staying, if even for a moment.

It doesn’t take long for Adam to miss the quiet of the summer estate and, more agonizingly, the soft moments he had with Ronan while they were there. It’s after one night full of revelry and court gossip that Adam finally decides to take matters into his own hands. He leaves the feast hall and its dozen patrons once the last Lord has moved from spilling his guts to emptying them. The feast hall is not far from the royal wing and it takes no time to find the quarters he’s looking for.

Ronan answers his chamber door with agitation before he realizes who it is. “Adam,” he softens immediately. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk,” Adam answers. “I’ve been finding it hard to do so during the day.”

Ronan glances past Adam and down the hall. “Should we go to the courtyards?”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Do I have some virtue to protect here?”

“Fair point,” Ronan shrugs and steps back to allow Adam into the antechamber.

Adam regards the room and its disarray with a frown.

“I don’t allow the servants to clean,” Ronan says and plops down onto lounge at the center of the antechamber.

“And I see you don’t do so yourself, either,” Adam replies distractedly as he looks around the room. There are clothes in piles on the floor, but there are also books splayed with odd numbers of turned pages and inkpots with half-finished manuscripts and leatherworking tools by saddle-stitched pouches. “I didn’t realize you had so many hobbies.”

Ronan’s eyes track Adam across the room as he stops to inspect each unfinished project. “I’ve had to keep myself busy.”

Adam turns to him with a furrow between his brow. “Why?”

Ronan gives him a tilted smirk, its edges softened by the candlelight brightening the room. “To stop myself from showing up at your chambers in the middle of the night.”

Adam’s thankful for the low lighting of the room. It would be embarrassing for Ronan to see how flustered such a simple admission makes him. “Is it our discussions you miss?”

“Discussions, arguments, even silence,” Ronan says, “I miss you and all that entails.”

Adam draws closer and presses his hand to Ronan’s jaw. “It was only a month we spent at the estate.” He tilts Ronan’s head back so they can meet each other’s eyes. “Did you favor turn to me so quickly?”

“You think I’ve only felt like this for a month?” Ronan laughs and his hand comes up to cover Adam’s. “I’ve been stricken by you since we met on the docks.”

“You’ve had a strange way of showing it,” Adam says ruefully.

Ronan shakes his head. “I was yours, but I didn’t know if you were mine.”

Adam pulls his hand away. “I don’t want to be owned.”

“Then you won’t be,” Ronan grabs his hand and holds it between his own.

Adam steps back, drawing away from the candlelight and into the shadows. “I don’t want to speculate on my own life,” he says lowly. “Just speak plainly what you want from me.” His heart feels heavy with need and want, but he’s not ready to give himself away entirely.

Ronan stands from the lounge, but he doesn’t follow Adam into the shadows. “I want what you are willing to give. I will take anything, even if you give me nothing at all.”

“We’re contracted to be married.” Adam says.

“I can deny the betrothal.” Ronan say fiercely. “No one will question me going against Declan.”

Adam lets out a shaky breath. “And if I say I want to be married?”

“Then we’ll be husbands, and we’ll each wear a ring to show it,” Ronan answers. “That’s all a marriage means.”

“And where will we sleep when we’re married?” Adam asks.

“Sleep wherever you want.” Ronan tells him. “We can share the same bed every night or our beds can mark the ends of the earth.”

Adam blinks away the wetness in his eyes and steps back into the light. “And if we share a bed, will we be lovers?”

Ronan steps forward, pulling Adam into a hug by his wrists. “We could be lovers or I could sleep by your feet and I’d be happy just the same.”

“It’s hard to believe,” Adam says slowly.

Ronan pulls back to look at him earnestly. “I don’t lie.”

Adam slides his hand to the back of Ronan’s neck and searches his face. When he finds no fault with him, he presses a kiss to his lips, and they stay like that until their lungs are sore and aching.

\--

“We’ll set sail tomorrow,” Ronan says lazily, draping one arm over the sheets that cover Adam’s hips. “And within a week of landing, we’ll be wed.”

“Gansey’s coming to the wedding.” Adam mumbles sleepily. “I think he would have anyway, but he’s also quite pleased with himself for how well his _retreat_ idea worked.”

“We should stage a fight right before we get on the boat,” Ronan says mischievously and plants a kiss on the back of Adam’s neck.

Adam presses back against his chest. “That would be a bad way to leave him if we get lost at sea.”

“You don’t have to be so fatalistic,” Ronan mutters grumpily.

“I never said we’d die at sea.” Adam draws his fingers up Ronan’s forearm and smiles at the please sigh Ronan breathes against his shoulder. “Just that we’d be lost.”

“Lost usually means dead.” Ronan says.

“Until it doesn’t,” Adam says and halfway rolls over, his mouth open like he’s about to list everybody that’s been lost-presumed-dead and returned alive.

Ronan kisses him before a single name can spill from his lips.

“That’s a dirty tactic to get out of a conversation you don’t like,” Adam grumbles against his lips. Still, when Ronan pulls away to reply, Adam grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him down again.

“You were the first to change the subject,” Ronan huffs when they finally pull apart.

“What?” Adam gives him an indignant look. “I did not.”

Ronan shifts, rolling on top of Adam and sitting up so that his thighs bracket Adam’s hips. “We were talking about our wedding.”

“What about it?” Adam asks, instinctively reaching for Ronan’s hips.

Ronan gives him a soft look. “You truly have no more worries about marrying me?”

Adam hums thoughtfully. “I have a final question.”

“I knew it,” Ronan says, but any smugness is pulled from his voice when Adam runs his hands from Ronan’s hips to his legs, dragging his thumbs along his inner thighs. “You’re never allowed to talk to me about dirty tactics again,” he says distractedly.

“Shh,” Adam chides. “Let me ask my question.”

Ronan stays still and silent, waiting for more than just the question.

Adam smiles softly, trying to keep from looking devious. “When a sovereign marries in this land, it is considered a shared title. If we were to go to a ball or diplomatic meeting, they would announce you as a prince and myself as a sovereign prince.” He runs his hands back up Ronan’s thighs, thumbs pressed tight enough to them that Ronan bites his lip to keep from responding.

“But in your lands,” Adam continues, “Your kings rule by divine right, and that doesn’t transfer through marriage. There, you would be announced as a prince and I would be your consort.” Adam stops, pulling his hands away altogether. “So, what would _you_ call me? Prince or consort?”

“First of all,” Ronan growls. “We’re never going to a fucking _ball_. And second,” he leans down to steal another kiss. “I think I’ll just call you Adam.”

Adam pulls him down and rolls them so that Ronan’s on his back. “Then, no; I have no worries about marrying you.” He grabs Ronan’s wrists and pins them above his head. “Though, I do worry about being late to breakfast with Gansey.”

“Don’t worry,” Ronan wraps his legs around Adam’s waist and crosses his ankles. “I’ll apologize for you.” He lifts his head to press his mouth to Adam’s chest and all arguments, real and fake, disappear behind a breathy moan.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a writing prompt sent to me on my tumblr. If you like it, you can reblog it at https://apolloattraction.tumblr.com/


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